Annoyed with herself as much as with him, Selma turned toward the bed. However much she wanted to throw a fit, she needed to sleep more than she needed to assert herself right now. Tomorrow, however, was another matter entirely.

Determined to climb in and disappear from the world under what looked to be extraordinarily thick and fluffy blankets, she kicked off her shoes and unzipped and removed Kesh’s leather jacket—and was halted by a sharp intake of breath from the demon behind her.

“I want the name of the one who did this.”

Selma blinked at his angry tone, then remembered what state Marathin had left her clothes in.

“Oh. It’s… a bit of a long story. One of Naharan’s accomplices chased me down when I fled.”

She pulled uncomfortably on her ruined shirt, ensuring that she wasn’t flashing him anything inappropriate, then finally climbed into the bed. It was soft and heavenly, and she felt her muscles relax into the mattress on contact. She didn’t want to think about Marathin and what he’d done to her, or even what she’d done to him.

“Who is he?”

The low growl from the end of the bed had the small hairs on her arms standing on end. Selma cracked her eyes open halfway to look at the demon Lord.

“He’s dead. I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? I’m so tired.”

Kesh grunted an assent, though he still looked rather scary and angry as he hovered by the end of the bed. When she let her eyelids slide closed again, she heard him move quietly around the room, undoubtedly to turn off the light and ensure that everything was safe for her.

She sighed. As infuriating as it was to be treated like a china doll, there was still something rather endearing about these big brutes’ obsessive need to care for the women whose scent drove them loopy.

Besides, the somewhat familiar pattern reminded her of Kain, and she dozed off with a feeling of being safe in the hands of people who would help her save her mate.

23

Selma

The pleasant scent of male musk slowly penetrated her consciousness as sleep released its hold on her. She was warm and comfortable, and the feeling of hard, sculpted flesh by her side made her feel safe. Home.

Selma nuzzled in closer against her mate and was rewarded with a sleepy rumble that sounded just like it should, but also… not.

Before she’d managed to push away the haze of drowsiness, the big male by her side rolled over, letting a large hand stroke down over her hip and in between her thighs, then up against her clothed sex in an unmistakable suggestion.

A myriad of images and sensations coagulated in her mind in the span of a split-second—Marathin touching her, spreading her apart, trying to force his way inside of her.